Tenma & a turtleneck
by tenmaandjohanwanttoofuck
Summary: [EXPLICIT CONTENT] A goddamn story about Tenma jerking off with one of Johan's turtlenecks. This was written to torture Seth, and it worked. So uh... enjoy? (written by Soren)


Johan had been gone for three days.

"Don't worry about me, Dr. Tenma," he'd said, looking at his boyfriend from underneath his lashes, a gentle smile on his face. "Don't work too hard, either. You always do."

"I'll try."

Johan kissed him, softly, and Tenma pulled him closer, into a deeper kiss. Johan melted into it–into him–for a moment, then pulled away.

"I love you," Tenma said.

Johan couldn't help but blush. He glanced down.

"Love you too," he said, pecking Tenma on the lips quickly.

Then he was gone.

And the house, when Tenma came home from the hospital, was completely empty. A coldness filled it, a strange spareness different from neatness. There were no new coffee cups in the sink, field with dregs, no damp towels in the bathroom, replaced slightly awry, no askew pillows, rumpled throws, misplaced books scattered on end tables. Their home, the one they had always shared, was empty.

He sighed into the darkness of it, and made his way to the bedroom.

He began undressing, unburdening himself from his work clothes. Tenma paused at the laundry basket, spying one dove grey shirt draped over the edge of it. One of Johan's. He picked it up and held it to his face, inhaling the scent. It smelled like him, like the cologne he'd dabbed on in the morning sweated out, crisp and cool and spicy, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and the scent felt like nuzzling against the hot spot of his neck where the blood beat beneath. Johan's breath was at his ear, whimpering, slap me again–slap me–please–, while Tenma's hand clenched around his neck, his cock slamming deep into his ass.

He felt his cock start to grow hard.

Tenma turned to the bed and caught sight of himself in the mirror, tall and bare-chested, the bulge in his boxer briefs growing. He needed to shower and shave; Johan was right, he did work too hard when he was gone. His stubble had grown too long and his hair was dirty. But… he gripped the shirt in his hands, remembering that scent of him, the whimpering, the way his blue eyes welled with tears as a bright blotch appeared on his cheek from Tenma's hand, the yearning shining through all of it. He'd gone away with love bites this time, small bruises patterned over his pale body.

He'd shower later, he decided. After. And Tenma laid out on their bed.

He pulled his cock out of his underwear, shimmying the waist band down over his hips. His cock was full and hard, and he let it rest against his stomach, the dark trail of hair from his bellybutton to his cock acting as its shadow. Johan's turtleneck rested on his thighs, one gentle fold just barely brushing his balls.

Tenma smoothed the shirt over his cock once, and then twice. The sensation made his heart pound, gave him chills that crawled over his warm skin. He took the shirt firmly in his hand and stroked himself with it.

He missed Johan when he left, of course, but missing him perhaps wasn't the worst thing. It was true he never knew where he went or exactly how long he'd be gone for–maybe three days, maybe a week; it always depended on some unknown factor. It was the stories Johan had told him, the sort of games he'd played with these powerful men, that was worse than missing him. He'd ruined some of them by simply getting on his knees and giving them something they would've never dared say they wanted. It was something Tenma himself had experienced; Johan gazing up at him, his lips obediently around his cock, easing it into his mouth until it disappeared entirely.

"You should've seen his face," Johan would say, curled up next to him like a black cat, "he'd worked years starting a company now worth billions, but all that mattered was whether or not I'd let him cum in my mouth."

The old Johan crept back out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth. He was cold and he was sly and he laughed in a way that chilled Tenma–possibly even himself. But it would slip away and he'd then nestle against Tenma's chest in the low light, in love, but never entirely escaped from the past.

What Tenma never admitted was how much he loved hearing his stories. There was a cold, wicked part of Johan still left–which would always be there–and it was that remnant that took him away for days at a time. And though Tenma would never admit it, some part of him hoped he was still up to his old tricks. While he performed surgery, his boyfriend was slipping his hand into someone's trousers once they were alone in the elevator, his gaze direct and chilling, yet so beautiful. While Tenma checked up on patients, Johan was dropping to his knees in offices as the leather chair beneath yet another corrupt business man squeaked as he repositioned himself, eager to force his boyfriends head down on his cock.

It rested on his tongue like melting sugar when Johan was gone, snapped at his heels like a devil, lovesick and aching in this secret pleasure he'd never share.

His hand pulled at his cock faster, the soft turtleneck wrapped around it, as soft as Johan was, as soft as his eyes when he begged him, when he was in love with him, begging to be formed by his hands. He whimpered when Tenma slapped him, and Tenma's stomach tightened, his hand jerked faster, the shining head of his cock thrusting through the cradle of fabric around it. The images of Johan ebbed and flowed with the waves of his orgasm–his red, slapped cheeks, his lips sliding back over a stranger's cock, cum dribbling out from the corners of his mouth, the way he squirmed beneath Tenma as he fucked him, panting hard, aching to cum himself. His orgasm broke within him, his cock spurting cum over his stomach, his hand, the fabric of the shirt. His hand slowed, savouring the feeling of the fabric, squeezing out every last drop of cum. He wiped himself clean with Johan's turtleneck, and then rose to take a shower.


End file.
